All Fall
by Halfpenny
Summary: How far does one go to judge the purity of a man? Slash, IrvineZell


**A/N/Di: **Do not own Irvine, or Zell, or Squall's ass. Would like to own Irvine, and Zell, and Squall's ass, but then, who wouldn't? This idea has been with me for a long, long time; and the idea, rather than the writing, is what I'm proud of.

**Warnings: **Yaoi, implications, and excessive amounts of swearing. 

**-all fall **

_    fin 9/28/2k3  10:22 p.m_

_Through these dark rooms, whose days_

_are weights, I wander to and fro_

_to find the windows. -  Should a window open_

_it would offer some relief. -_

_But the windows don't exist, or I can't_

_find them.  Better, maybe, if I don't._

_Perhaps the light would prove another torment._

_Who can tell what new things would emerge._

                                                --K.P. Kavafis, _"The Windows"_

Winhill's one of those towns that could be pretty if it wasn't for the stifling sense of nostalgia. Every town's got its thing, I guess—Dollet's always under construction, for example, and Fisherman's Horizon breeds more son of a bitches than a horny pair of Belhemels_—but _Winhill_… you can walk around the place for days and it'll still feel like time is going backwards. Between the barred-up flower shop and the run-down store past the chocobo crossing it's a sad clash of stone and petal and uneasy snatches of sunshine, and it's the _after _that gets you –after you've walked across the bridge, after you've spoken to the cute little old lady at her table in the shop, after you've clomped down the splintering staircases or picked up the scent of flowers that haven't been in the room for over a decade—that you feel something's off. It's built on 'could've' and 'had been'; a counter-zone stuck in the perfect tense. _

You can get as poetic as you want with it, actually, but one thing's for sure: no matter how good you are with a well-turned phrase, there's absolutely nothing poetic about a monster spitting up a good portion of its stomach juices at you as you're coming over a hill. Marlboro's shouldn't be so far east, really—I mean, how far is the Island Closest to Hell? A couple of hundred miles? More? Fact is, though, I _had_ opted for a strength boost instead of Alert when I junctioned and even before the Marlboro had finished with us we were about as fucked over as an inebriated chocobo on pain medication and clean out of antidotes and echo screens. Squall really hadn't said much about it, but Zell had just updated his gloves and the surprise acid attack had essentially totaled them, so the talk on his side of the battle line pretty much had went something like, "Heel-palm, _fuck you, Irvine, one-two-reverse heel thrust god __damn it, Irvine, __Curaga, come on baby come on baby fuckin __shit, Irvine…" and on, and on, and on._

At any rate, Winhill was the closest town and no one, even Squall, was exactly raring to go after the battle, so we ended up rooming in the inn up by what passes for uptown. A royal fuck-up, all in all, but nothing too terribly out of the ordinary.

Except that once we reached our room Squall toppled over onto one bed and managed to look like he couldn't be roused with anything short of a Firaga to his ass and Zell pushed me out of our bed so hard I got a bruise on _my _ass, and since sleeping alone while staring at _both of their asses depresses the shit out of me, I opted to go out and bop around town a little bit. To top things off, though, I came back around two from trying to pop a stiffy with a forty-three year-old insomniess to find Squall sawing a forest and that Zell, devoid of ungloves and comm, was totally and completely not there. _

Now don't get me wrong: Zell may be a dick sometimes and act like he's five years old if something rubs him the wrong way, but he's a SeeD and a damn good fighter to boot. But _still_, nobody's perfect, and I was still kind of feeling guilty about what happened—I man, getting pre-empted by _anything_, let alone a Marlboro, is not fun. In the interest of playing the part of a semi-decent human being, I manfully resisted the urge to steal his bed and instead turned a smart 180 at the doorway, hauling ass back downstairs. The receptionist blinked at me sleepily. "Out to do some more partying?" she asked.

"Nope," I said. "Not that this town isn't, y'know, totally happening tonight or anything… Did you happen to see a blond guy walk out of here? I'm kind of looking for him."

Her fingers danced; staccato across polished wood. 'I believe so," she said. "It was a good hour and a half ago, though."

"Oh. Damn." I pushed my hat back in irritation, rubbing the bill along the back of my neck. My stomach, still sensitive from the Marlboro toxins, did a merry little jig that sent my insides roiling. "And he hasn't stopped back?"

"No, sorry. Should I tell him you're looking for him if he comes back?"

Never mind that he'd be pissed as hell that I was checking up on him. "Yeah, sure. Did you see which way he went?"

She stifled a yawn politely, fanning her other hand to the right. My anxiety went up a notch. The only thing to the right was a supply store and a couple of run-down buildings; otherwise the path led straight out of town. Besides stealing the ship or whatever there wasn't much else he could do besides train, which was dangerous as hell considering it was night and there were Marlboros running around where there really shouldn't have been Marlboros. "Thanks," I said.

"Be careful," she called after me as I headed for the door.

As it happened, it ended up taking less time to find Zell than I thought it would. Rounding the bend, I stumbled upon the hills of Winhill and spotted a figure further down toward the river. My night vision sucks like no other, but after squinting like a jackass for the better part of two minutes I eventually confirmed the stance as being Zell's. Relaxing, I stepped off the path and strode down to meet him. He didn't move as I approached him, so I stopped a couple of yards away and deliberately turned a heel into the wet grass. At the dull squeak Zell stiffened slightly, but didn't turn. Figuring I had his attention, I closed the rest of the distance and settled beside him. It was a while, but when one of us did finally speak it was Zell, and about something completely ass-random. "These stars're awesome," he said. "I mean, wow, y'know? They never get this bright over Balamb. Seriously. I didn't even realize some of these constellations existed."

After surreptitiously looking him over and to become sure he wasn't bleeding from any orifices or puking out anything hairy, I followed his gaze. Stars weren't my thing by a long shot, but I had to admit he had a point: on typical nights in Galbadia and Balamb the lights barely dim come nightfall, so you usually only get a smattering of stars. Winhill is a perfumed penitentiary at its best, but you'd have to be a real hard-hearted person not to at least enjoy the view. On the other hand… "That's the desert prison over there, isn't it?"

He didn't respond. For some reason his hand lifted to his side, though, which reminded me of one of the reasons I was there. I squinted again. After a moment I managed to spot the telltale glint of one of his older pairs—Maverick? I wasn't sure why I was so relieved –Zell can kill bare-knuckled as easily as he can brassed-up—but it did serve to make me feel about a hundred times better. 

I avoided a swell of wind by huddling into my duster. "You're, like, still pissed off, aren't you," I said.

A grat hummed to our left as a cloud slid over the moon. The gloom swallowed up his expression; when he spoke, I was surprised to hear a grin in his voice. "How's Squall?" he asked. "Did he see you leave?"

"Don't think so." 

"Think?"

"I mean, you know how it goes. Maybe he's lying awake right now, waiting to bust us up. Maybe I put a bullet in his ass and left him with only the butt of his gunblade to dig it out." I flashed him a brilliant smile and shifted. Wrong, I discovered, and I bent slightly to endure a sullen twinge of nausea. "I'm full of surprises once the sun goes down."

"At least you keep the moon covered up," he muttered.

 "Not by choice, mine SeeD. My ass has a nasty habit of melting my pants to it."

"But you're sure he didn't see you."

The moon wrestled its way back through the shadows. I took a deep breath, trying to force down the unrelenting urge to vomit. Much as I hate to admit it, out the three of us I guess I was the one who'd needed to stop the most after the attack, though I'd have sooner dug out my toenails with thumbtacks than tell Squall. That's the thing about him, though: he can be a cold, thick-headed son of a bitch and may have about as much perception as a turd in the sun, but he's a damn good commander, and he knows the limitations of his troops better than he knows his own. Zell finally shot me a glance, looking grudgingly concerned. "You're okay, right, man? I mean, I don't have to drag out a cure or anything, do I?"

I shook my head. "But yeah, Squall," I said after a moment. "S'far as I could tell he was still sleeping, but whatever. Why are you so worried, anyway?"

"No reason." Zell folded his arms behind his head. "It's just… like. For being such a quiet guy he can sure bitch up a storm when he wants to. Me, I'd thought we were past the whole buddy system thing."

Apparently this all was about as much of a 'forget it' response as I was ever going to coax out of him. The queasy feeling finally eased and I straightened, breathing out slowly. 

I couldn't quite place my finger on it, but something was funny about the entire situation. For one thing, the place around us was weird: in some areas the grass was flattened, others crisped at the edges. I moved a toe to brush it across their tops of the blades. The tips broke off at the pressure and drifted down to the earth, flickering dully. Recognizing the vestiges of attack magic I opened my mouth to comment, but Zell beat me to it. "Do you know what I hate the most about this town? Besides the fact that they got, like, no food, and their stores suck? The way they look at you. You could be the nicest guy in the world and if you enter the town the wrong way even the little old ladies stare at you like you're an asshole."

"Aren't we?" 

"What?"

I watched him shift his weight. The grass stirred; white-gold light began dancing around his feet like restless fireflies. "Assholes."

He made a snort of disgust that sounded more like amusement. "Dude. The shit you say."

"You say assholes like it's something bad, but we both have them. And like them."

"But, I mean, you'd think _we _were the bad guys," he said, suddenly very eager to ignore me. He shifted his weight again, grunting slightly. The movement threw up another couple scraps of light, and I was startled to realize that I was seeing the remnants of a series of Holy spells. "I know they don't like outsiders, but, _shit_, man..."

I frowned down at the ground for a moment. Since when had Zell gotten in the habit of using Holy…? "Statistically speaking, I'm too good looking to be a bad guy." 

"Say what?"__

"Evil guys are ugly way more often than good guys. They gotta die sometime, and no one wants to see good looks go to waste, so they don't get them." I gestured broadly. "So, according to overwhelming evidence, I'm a very, very good guy."

Zell looked disgruntled. "But what you're basically telling me is you'd rather be a good-looking bad guy than a bad-looking good guy."

"Well, if you must know, yes." 

"You are so full of shit."

"Yeah, but considering how nice I smell I'm probably covering it up pretty well."

"What are you doing out here, Irvine?" he asked. He suddenly sounded weary. "I mean, if you came out just to harass me…"

"You left without telling either of us," I said. Apparently he knew how much of a hypocrite _I knew I was being because he promptly turned to sneer at me. "Yeah, yeah, I know. But that's different. Squall actually gives a shit where _you're _going. If I let anything happen to you my balls'd be forfeit, you know that."_

The scorn faded. "Right," he said, then apparently found it much more important to continue examining the sky than to look me in the eye. "Forfeit."

I shifted the strap of my gun over to the opposite shoulder. The weight of it settled comfortably across my back. "You're okay, though, right?" I asked. "It looks like you've been battling."

His expression grew guarded. "Oh, don't even try that shit with me," I said. "There's magic all over the place. You'd have to be blind and numb not to sense it."

"It's not…" Zell hesitated. "Fuck. Whatever. Look, if you're going to stay out here, could you at least shut up? I didn't come out here to have a fucking counseling session."

I shrugged amiably. The chick I'd been talking to earlier hadn't closed her trap for a good two hours; shutting up was sounding pretty good to me right now. "I can handle not talking for a while. If you can handle not hearing my sage advice for such a long period of time."

He didn't dignify that with an answer, and we ended up standing there for an indeterminate amount of time, shifting our focus from the river to the hills to the stars and pretending not to look at each other. It was actually kind of funny at first—I think he was a lot more uncomfortable than I was even though he'd been the one to suggest the silence. After a while of watching him fidget, I decided to try dredging up an excuse for us both to go inside—I mean, he really did look like shit, and I couldn't help but feel just a little responsible for it. Just as I was about to launch into my act, Zell surprised me by suddenly speaking up. "Do you really think they even care that we're risking our asses to save them?"

"I thought we were shutting up," I said.

"I changed my mind. Do you?"

A little disappointed, I turned to face him. It'd be a lot harder to get him inside now that he had kicked up a thread. "Do I what?"

"Think that they care," he said impatiently. "You know. Winhill. Everybody. Anybody."

"The hell should I know?"

He shook his head. The moon snatched a hold of his hair and threw blond strands into white. "Nobody ever says a word. I'm starting to wonder if this whole thing's an elaborate field test or something. Do you think these people, like, know about this whole thing?"

A cough was tickling its way up the back of my throat. Sighing, I stifled it the best I could and rummaged around for an antidote. Malboro toxins have a way of sticking around in the circulatory systems, and not having a couple of bottles handy after an attack is one of those things you learn to just not do. "Look, I don't know, all right? These people are about as open as a virgin's crackhole. I don't bother fishing anymore."

"Oh." He sounded oddly deflated. "Right. Never mind."

Looking back up at him, I finally realized what was so strange about the situation. In the entire time I'd been beside him Zell hadn't actually _moved his feet once; not to turn, or to throw a restless combo or punch at air, or to do—anything, really. While at certain points of certain days and certain missions I might've been thankful for the peace, having him so still for no apparent reason was actually kind of creepy. "But then, I really couldn't tell you," I said. "Maybe they're… you know. Clueless. Like you said."_

"Yeah." Maybe it was the effect of the moonlight, or the sullen sparking of spent magic around us, but Zell seemed to flicker, and I had a sudden, absurd urge to touch him, to make sure he was real. "I... I… keep forgetting. Maybe…"

A Righty came tumbling over the hillside to our right, interrupting his thought. Without thinking I swung the gun from my back, muttering a warning. Zell whirled, fists up, and stumbled slightly. Though it didn't escape my attention, I didn't think much about it at first; the hills offered uncertain footing at best, and besides, the Righty had spotted us and was gearing up to attack, which pretty much erased any urge I had to further our small talk. Resisting the urge to retreat a step, I brought my Valiant up and let a shot fly. It hit the knuckle of its ring finger squarely. It shuddered, then reared slightly to flip me off. I stifled a grin, swiftly reloading. "Zell, you are planning to do something soon, right?"

The Righty suddenly darted to my side; presumable toward him, unless it had lousy aim. To my surprise, I heard the strike connect; I turned to see Zell staggering back, his cheek already darkening. "Zell, what are you doing?" I snapped. "Wake up!"

An explosion of light; the Righty was hurled backwards, blown by a Blizzaga. "Fuck you, Irvine," he snarled, and abruptly thumped onto his butt, sending sparks of magic flying into the air. Clinging to the ridiculous, irrational hope that it was some kind of new martial arts pose he'd picked up and not that he'd just collapsed or anything, I spun back to meet the Righty as it hurtled toward us, fingers outstretched. Instinct took over. My hand flew to the supplies; one-two-_three_ and the shots were loaded and _bam_, a line of APs were hurled its way and damned if all four didn't hit. The Righty flew into nothingness, sending out a scattering of charred material and gil. "Damn, but that was easy," I muttered to no one.

I turned back to Zell, who had drawn his knees up to his chest and was now gasping for air. Biting my tongue against a swell of irritation, I dropped to a knee beside him and briskly brought a scan up past my palm. _Zell Dincht, _it offered obediently. _Loves the hot dogs sold in the garden cafeteria, absorbs lightning attacks, _and then a smattering of approximations as to his level of ability and his weaknesses. I expected to see him zombied or poisoned or something, but the status bar was clear. In the upper corner, on the other hand, the health meter was dipping dangerously. "Shit," Zell breathed. "Sorry about that." 

I closed the window. "Cure or potion?" I asked. Evenly, I guess, though I was having trouble remembering the last time I'd been so pissed. "Or Recover, I got Leviathan on me."

Zell shook his head. "I hate it when you get so specific," I said. I wrestled a small bottle from the depths of my collection and waggled it in front of his nose. "Here. High potion. Tastes like an after-dinner mint."

"I don't want anything. 'Cept more holies. You got some of those, right? Irvine?"

I resumed my search through the pockets of my duster, hoping to stumble across something a little more potent. After a moment my fingers brushed against ridged glass; a remedy, I realized with some relief. Expensive as hell, and most likely my last one, but judging by the tremors I could see now that I was close to him I figured he probably needed it a hell of a lot more than I did. He shifted restlessly. "I don't know," I said, exasperated. "Why?"

"'Cuz I like the pretty colors. You got some or not?"

I shrugged. Zell made an impatient noise and waved his hand in the air. At first I didn't recognize the gesture, but there came a faint tug at the back of my mind and an absurd image of a hanger being slipped off a rack, and I was suddenly devoid seven holies. "Thanks," Zell said.

"Bastard…" I yanked my hands from my pockets and grabbed at my temple as if the action would somehow drag them back, then settled for giving him a death glare. "So that's what you've been doing this entire time, huh? Casting Holy on yourself?"

"Pretty good," he admitted. "I didn't think you'd catch on so quick."

"Hell, I'm a smart guy. I mean, it was either that or you were eating them, and holies are pretty bland without salt. Give me my magic back."

"Holy has to be the one magic that only screws you up on the inside." Zell exhaled, grimacing slightly. "You know what it does, right?"

"I know what _I'm fucking going to do if you don't give me my magic back."_

He turned his head to stare up at me, allowing the light to jump from thumb to pinkie as he rolled a Holy spell along his knuckles. My stomach churned unpleasantly. There was something… _dead_ in that expression, and while it wouldn't have bothered me all that much to see it on Squall or even Rinoa or Quistis, it was incredibly, hideously wrong on him. "Zell…"

"S'alright," he said. He gave a flick of his wrist and the spell flew into million pieces, burning up the sky and sending it falling down around us. When the spots cleared more grass was seared and he was down on his hands and knees, retching. Without thinking I drew up the Recover command and allowed it to begin flooding past my palm. Before the spell could complete itself a fire spell exploded by my fingers. I yelped, yanking my hand away. "Don't you _dare," Zell whispered, breathing raggedly. _

"Zell, what the _fuck is your problem?" I yelled. "You almost blew my damn hand off!"_

"I don't want you to help me. Holy'll decide if I—"

"Holy's an attack magic, you stupid shit!" I was completely and absolutely pissed. Autonomy was fine, but those were my trigger fingers he'd almost detonated. "It's going to hurt you no matter what, so this isn't proving anything, all right?"

"Holy only hurts those who've screwed up," he insisted. "The more you've done, or felt, or… or seen, or whatever, the more it hurts. I've done so much shit…" 

"And nobody else has?"

"You're missing the point, Irvine! This's about me, not anybody else. I care about what _I've done. __He…"_

He stopped. Assuming he meant Squall, I scowled and massaged my hand gently, wondering how much it would hurt my fingers to unload a couple of bullets into his head. "And why do you give a fuck about what he says you've done?"

 "Because he's right." Zell gripped the tattered edges of his hair for a moment, then released them to rub his temples. "Between battling n'killing and _wanting _to kill… I don't even deserve to have him, it hurts like a bitch…"

Despite my anger the pain and adrenaline was slowly fading away, leaving behind that annoying, what-the-fuck-are-you-still-doing-up exhaustion. I reached down and snagged his sleeve, yanking him to his feet. He was unresisting, though I thought I saw a flicker of surprise cross his face. "I should fucking break your arm," I said. "Not like I could, but I should. What the hell's gotten into you, anyway? This isn't like you."

Zell shook his head. "Don't you ever wonder?" he asked.

"If you're sane? No. What's to wonder about?"

"No," he said. He was absolutely dead serious. "Whether you're really a good person? I mean, we forget so much shit… doesn't it make you think?"

I stared at him for a moment. The annoying thing was, I did kind of find myself wondering, and I really didn't like where my trains were going on that one. "Quit trying to change the subject," I muttered at last, then took advantage of my hold on him and summoned a Cure. He stiffened slightly. "Whether I do or don't doesn't change the fact that you're violating a shitload of regulations, not to mention—"

"Since when have you given a fuck about regulations?" he snapped, yanking away. The rest of the spell fizzled away into nothing. "I mean it, Irvine. If you can be serious for a second. Haven't you ever thought about it? What right do we have calling ourselves the heroes or the good guys or whatever when we've killed just as much as they have?"

"It's not our job to question." I studied him, debating whether or not to try and sneak another Cure on him, but he'd seemed to have gotten most of his edge back, if not his color. "We, like, get _paid_ to kill, right?" I added. "It's not our problem, it's not our fault, and it's not our responsibility to choose which side we get to be on. We didn't join SeeD to dish out peace or justice or whatever. We exist to wipe out sorceresses and take out targets, right? We're mercenaries. If someone has a problem with ethics or whatever that's their deal, but all in all, we're not here to indulge a stupid moral dilemma. We kill and, to some extent, we gotta like it, or we wouldn't be here. It's that simple."

He was wearing a very thin-lipped expression. It was freaky as hell, too, especially on him, and for a moment I felt like he was the one holding onto _me, making sure I couldn't fall down or pull away or possibly run back into Winhill, with its cold-faced passersby and its morose scattering of white petals and cobblestones. "Okay, Irvine," he said. "You try it."_

I balked. "Me? Fuck no."

"Seriously. I know you have more holies in there. C'mon. You think what you're doing is so right, then you won't have any issues."

"I don't have anything to prove to you," I said, and knew it was a lie. Apparently he did too because his lips curved into a smirk that successfully succeeded in making me want to conk him with the butt of my Valiant. "I mean, just because I'm not in the habit of beating myself up with attack magic…"

"Well, if you're not gonna do it, that's up to you, dude. You know I'm not gonna force you." His gaze finally left mine, and I felt a vague sensation of having weight lifted. "But if you're not going to do anything but stand there bitching at me you can go away. If I end up actually _wanting_ that kind of shit I'll go drag Squall out of bed. Or maybe I will anyway. He's so stressed out and shit these days, I'd bet he'd be more'n willing to pound somebody's ass."

I knew it was inappropriate and probably the worst thing I could possibly say, but at the moment I just couldn't help myself. "You sure you want to tempt me like that?"

He shot me such a look of pure hatred that I was sure some of my organs would begin to liquefy. "Fuck you, Irvine," he muttered, and deliberately turned his back. 

A blood soul slid by to our right, peering at me unsteadily before shuffling over the hill and out of sight. I shifted to distribute the weight of my gun more evenly across my back, then tried to figure out what else to say. On one hand, now that he mentioned it the Holy thing _did_ have me curious. For one thing, it's already one of the weirder magicks to begin with, and it's _rare_, which also means that it's damn powerful to boot. The thing is, it doesn't _feel heavy when you stock it. Not like Ultima, anyway, which is actually much the scariest spell under Hyne, by the way. It's quiet and a handy junction and it sits just as pretty as you please alongside your blizzards and your fires, but when you _cast _it, it's like pulling a small sun out of your pocket. It hurts to look at: I can't even begin to imagine what it feels like. _

On the other hand, it _really_ seemed to be fucking him up, so it would probably be pretty rotten of me just to ignore the whole situation like I was becoming increasingly tempted to do. It's not like I had any desire to demonstrate the consistency of my balls on that particular point or anything, but there are only so many topics you can discuss at 2:00 in the morning that aren't centered around sex and leaving him out here to sic holies on himself with impunity really wasn't sitting well. "Fine," I said. "You know what? I'm game."

Zell glanced over his shoulder, looking startled. "Say what?" 

"I said I'm game. Go ahead, take your best shot."

"What the hell are you talking about?"

"The Holy." I turned to face him and spread my arms wide. "You told me I needed to try it. Here I am."

A flicker of a different emotion passed his face and fled again before I could decipher what it was. "Dude..." he began, and shook his head. "Just shut up. I wasn't being serious."

"Well, I am. Would you go for it, already? Don't worry about me, I can take it."

"Forget it." 

"Look, what's your problem?" I demanded. "Before you were all, like, gung-ho about this. Don't tell me you're chickening out now. Admit it. You want to pound something into me. Crucify me. Whatever."

Zell was beginning to look genuinely pissed. In a strange, backwards corner of my mind I felt a kind of perverse satisfaction. "Irvine, would you quit being a dick? I'm not casting anything on you, let alone a Holy."

"What, so now you're saying I can't handle it? You're the only one that can stomach a Holy at close range?"

"No, goddammit," he said, exasperated. "Irvine—fuck. Just go back to sleep, okay?"

"And now you're gonna pull a Squall?"

He folded his arms. I instantly recognized the gesture as one signaling the preparation for a siege: it was the stance he used when he refused to be pushed any further. "Okay," I said. I took a step back, hoping to create distance under the pretense of retreat. "I guess if you can't be reasoned with…"

Zell wasn't fooled. "What are you doing?"

"Exactly what it looks like." I angled my palm toward my chest, mentally sifting through my stock of spells. The result was sad; I needed to talk to Squall about letting me trade my Item command to Draw. "F'course, it's harder now that you've filched most of my holies… I had those junctioned, you know…"

He blinked again, brow furrowing, before his eyes suddenly widened in comprehension. "Irvine…"

"No, no, it's okay." Of course, the actual thought of casting an attack spell on myself now that I was in position was serving to give me a thorough case of the heebie-jeebies, but some things are better left unsaid. "I mean, you can't seem to grow the balls to shoot it at me yourself, so I'm going to do it my way. Your way. Somebody's way."

His expression told me I was, in no uncertain terms, being a complete moron. "Irvine, cut it out. This is stupid. You don't know what you're—"

"So, what do I do, direct it to the stomach? The chest? My balls? Oh, wait." I lifted my hand to my temple. Zell instantly lunged forward, looking panicked. A little surprised by his reaction, I danced out of reach. "Not the head? What do you think, then? To the gut?"

"Irvine! Dammit, I'm serious! You'll—" 

"What're you gonna do?"

He whirled neatly as I skidded around him: a surprisingly graceful move that really shouldn't have been all that surprising, considering who he was and what I was doing to aggravate him. His fingers grazed my duster; I yanked back, almost lost my balance, and attempted the same clever toe-to-heel maneuver. In the middle of it I found myself leaning a little too much and reflexively threw myself forward. I promptly overcompensated. Cursing, I tried to regain my balance even as I fell out of the turn, flailing frantically. The magic tore from my palm. I distantly heard Zell's alarmed shout and the world tilted violently, exploding in a diamond-white haze. 

_"but really, it wasn't—"_

_"see you again, right? I mean, you said—"_

_pink sunsets, the kind she liked, and a box of candy with flowers, but they_

_    "Meanie! _My _moggy! I just got—"_

_                lovely, with her roe-eyes and her long hair and that scent of lemon and gingersnap ."Irvine, why can't you watch where you're going?" she chided. "That's the third one this month… can't you be more careful? How am I supposed to pay for food when you keep going and breaking—"_

_                                "—don't  be a wuss, you're _paid_ for this, take a shot and we'll take care of the—"_

_                (her eyes)_

_             "—dammit! Irvine! You need to shoot _now!_"           _

_way they moved and the snatches of unruly blond hair; the creak of rusty springs and the usual breathless whisper: "Irvine, baby, y'worry too much…" _

_                                "—with Squall, but other than that… he ain't thinking, he doesn't _deserve_ him and he knows it, he's crazy…"_

_           (one shot)_

_                "Irvine, what the _shit_, you were supposed to be watching—"_

    _"—know _anything! _Why don't you stay out of my—"_

_                    "—dammit! Irvine! You need to shoot _now!_"_

_                   "—dammit! Irvine! You need to—"_

Fade; reality found me flat on my back, gasping for breath and smarting like I'd just been totaled by a herd of Mesmerizes. Zell was kneeling beside me, looking pissed as hell and muttering spells under his breath. The pain began to ebb under the onslaught; oddly enough, it was an Esuna that enabled me to finally feel like I wasn't about to throw up some vital organs. "You bastard," Zell muttered as he worked. Another surge of warmth ran through my muscles: Cura. "You stupid fucking bastard…"

I was panting too hard to answer. I felt like someone had rammed an ice pick in my gut and was dangling off the pole end, kicking and screaming. Pushing Zell aside, I rolled onto my knees and continued focusing on trying not to hurl. 

"You're okay, man, right? Irvine!"

After a long minute I nodded, weakly. Zell slumped back on his heels, scrubbing his face with his palms. "You stupid fuck," he said bitterly. "I mean, seriously dude, out of all the places you could've cast it you had to do it by your heart…"

I hissed out what was probably something between an expletive and a snarl right before my body decided to try hacking up a lung. I heard a shift of fabric as Zell leaned over me. "You sure you're okay?" he asked. For the first time, he sounded truly anxious. His hand rose to rest on my back, drawing clumsy circles. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have even teased you 'bout it…"

My coughs were strangled as my breath slammed to a halt at the back of my throat. His touch was like fire and ice and a Thundaga to the temple; my eyes flew open, and in that moment reality _shifted_, just for a second, splitting focus into two directions. He was Zell, and then he _wasn't, and the air around him vibrated with an aggressive kind of energy. Somewhere from close to the sky, I felt the snow-light kiss of wings across my cheek before the dimensions settled uneasily back together again, leaving me dizzy and with a vague sensation of displacement. "What the hell?" I gasped._

Zell's eyes widened and he immediately attempted to withdraw, but I caught his arm and held on tight. He averted his gaze, muttering something too low for me to catch. Without thinking, I reached out to roughly grasp his chin. Light instantly skittered across my fingertips and lanced down into my limbs. Time hiccuped; with a sudden, sickening jolt I could remember the flare of warmth deep beneath the icy adrenaline, and Zell's sudden, sharp intake of breath ("There's no way she can own something this fucking beautiful…") and the low whine, followed by the ringing of metal on stone… "Alexander," I whispered.

Zell didn't respond, but I could read the tension in his shoulders. As my breath returned to normal I lowered my arm, feeling a rush of cold fury. "If he's the one that's making you do this…"

"Woah, dude," he said quickly, "it's not his fault, okay?" 

"The hell it isn't."

He hesitated, then looked up and smiled uncertainly: a ghostlike flash in the gloom. "He has this way of making you want to be a better person. He's like… I dunno. Purity itself, y'know? Like… heaven all wrapped up in one being."

"I don't care how much heaven you think is crammed in that box..."

"He's not a _box! And he doesn't try to make me feel bad, it's just the way it happens. He's—"_

"Making you feel like you have something to prove!" I exploded. "It's _sick!"_

Zell's face was crimson with an emotion I couldn't identify. "I told you, it's not his fault," he said, too quietly.

I'm not sure why I felt so pissed, actually. Rationally I knew it probably _was no fault of Alexander's, and it was none of my business what Zell did in his spare time anyway. Still, seeing him all stiff and… __depressed was making me want to rip the nuts off something, and since Squall's were unavailable and mine were staying right where they were I was all set to snag a hold of a GF's, metal as they probably were.  "I don't care what you say. None of the other GFs affect us like that. He's using you."_

"He's not 'using' me for anything, y'stupid fuck, so if you'll just _listen to me for a second I—" _

"To hell with that!" I said heatedly. "With that thing jammed so far up there, it's no wonder you can't even think for yourself anymore. It's obvious he's completely taken over you, so why don't give up and let him do the rest of the—"

Zell spun on me, and I was suddenly caught within a whirlwind of shattered time and shreds of reality. His teeth found my lip and grazed it, his hands clung to the front of my duster; behind him, Alexander loomed like a moonrise god. "Zell," I gasped as he pulled away. "What…"

"Nobody fucking controls me," he said. His voice was low; his breath was hot on my cheek. "Not you, not Squall, not fucken _anything_, not anymore. Got it?"

I licked my lips. His face was dark with rage, but the glint in his eyes held a touch of something that edged a little too close to fear. Abruptly sickened, I jerked my gaze away and glowered down at the ground. He let me go, slowly returning to his heels. 

I was kind of hurt, I guess. Not for me—though I was definitely of the opinion I could use some pity at the moment—but for Zell. He's not the world's most perfect guy or anything, but he's a good person, and he definitely doesn't deserve some guilt trip by a guest in his own head. He's always been the one to junction with the less subtle GFs; Alexander had probably been the first one who'd entered without noise, who hadn't jostled or given him splitting headaches—who'd lodged in a corner and began messing with his conscience instead of his mind._ "He sought you out, didn't he?" I said slowly. _

He looked at me sharply. I picked up my hat and absently began brushing it off. "I mean, I didn't try for him, but Squall did… and… I mean, I've never seen you summon him, but he comes really… fast for you, doesn't he? Not like, you know, in a sexual way or anything…"

Zell didn't reply at first. His anger had faded as abruptly as it had come and his habitual restlessness had returned; but artificial, somehow: as a kind of brittle agitation, sparking through his fingers and in the balls of his feet. I opened my mouth to fish for another approach, but Zell abruptly stood, running his hand through his hair roughly. "It's not what ya think, man," he muttered. "GFs don't have to choose. They like you, they make space, they don't like you, they make space. Only difference is, if they like you it's usually 'cause they see something _in_ you they like, and when they get in, they try to bring that out to center stage. _That's what fucks you up, not them." He hesitated, then turned to me, looking earnest as only Zell can look. "But it ain't just that. Haven't you ever wondered what kind of person you are? Whether or not you can… like, stand up to the stuff that's thrown at you? That you haven't changed?"_

I opened my mouth, hoping to kick out something reassuring, but nothing came out. Zell faced the desert prison, bouncing on his heels, and threw out a combo. It was sloppy; he was tense. "I don't want to have to think about it," he said abruptly. "I get sick of all these dreams at night, showing me all the stuff I've done during the day, making me think I like it… and maybe I do, I don't know. I'm sick of trying to decide for myself whether or not it's all real. I just wanna be a good person; that's not so much, is it?"

I got one of those horrendously _wrong_ feelings, right down by my toes, and it rattled its way up my legs and shuddered into my spine. "Zell… you're not going to…"

Zell turned back around. I was taken aback by the sudden normality of his expression. "Holy _shit, you are," I whispered. _

"S'no big thing," he said. "Sorry if you think I'm a wuss, but… if _he can tell me, then I'm gonna go for it.  It's getting a little old, know what I mean?" His voice dropped a level. "It's cool. I think he'd tell me if I…"_

He didn't finish. I didn't want him to. "So I was right," I said. "He did—" _Choose you, I was about to say, but the words died on my tongue. A slight, bitter smile froze on his face; a decade and three-quarters worth of prematurely gained comprehension._

_GFs don't have to choose._

A chorus of grat buzzes rose from the hills to our left. Suddenly needing to be anywhere else, I made a valiant attempt to find my feet. I managed to get halfway up before staggering like a drunk. Zell caught me and stood me up the rest of the way. "Wow," I said. I felt both the urge to laugh like a jackass and sob like a little kid, and I indulged neither. "This sucks, doesn't it?"

"You want to bum a haste?"  Though his tone was flippant, there was genuine concern in his eyes. "I mean, I know you're not a big fan of that kind of support magic, but it'll kick you into gear long enough for you to get back into town."

"No haste," I said. "Burns your life up. Gives you wrinkles. I'll live."

He looked away and 'tch'ed softly, though I could tell he wasn't really annoyed. "You're such a _chick, Irvine, I swear…"   _

"I think as long as I stay this hot, I don't care what the hell I am."

"I think the only thing proving you still got a brain is the fact you get it caught in your zipper every morning."

"Zell," I said.

He looked at me expectantly.  The moon caught his irises, flaring sky-blue into ice. I narrowed my eyes, trying to catch the glimpse of the GF I'd seen lurking behind them, but the energy had settled, ominous below his skin, like tension in a sky too overcast not to be stormy. "Try not to wake up Squall when you drag your sorry ass back to the inn."

He blinked, then gave me a slow, genuine smile. "Ne, don't worry. I was planning on dying in battle or in a burning building or something. Death by bitch-slap is not cool."

I retreated a step. Behind me, the town of Winhill loomed like a wall of centuries. "And don't track mud in the house. It's a dead giveaway."

"Yes, mom."

I opened my mouth to say more, only to realize that it'd gone dry. Defeated, I stuffed my hands in my pockets and focused on my stock of spells, accessing the slow spin of Curagas. With a flick of my head, I redirected them to Zell's stash. Though he didn't say anything, I saw a deliberate shift of weight. Watching him, I felt a sudden surge of hatred—not for Zell or the holies or even Alexander, but of _time, and all the ways it crept in to fuck around with life. If only morning would come a little sooner; if only he remembered back _then_, and maybe if…_

As I turned to leave I could hear his voice float after me, uncharacteristically soft: "M'sorry, Irvine… tell Squall I…"

The breeze took the rest of the sentence away and rolled it down the hills, leaving behind an eerie silence. I waited for him to repeat himself, but he seemed content to stand there, squinting at the heavens; pill-rolling, like he was handling something too hot to rest on a palm and too precious to be enclosed in a fist. I turned away, the sick feeling in my stomach returning with a vengeance.

The wind reversed directions, sweeping dust up from gravel. As I began to head down the pathway I caught a flash of light out of the corner of my eye. I turned my head slightly. There was the distant rumble of machinery, and the beating of a dozen pairs of wings, and then the low, unmistakable clang of church bells. 

I rounded the bend, and damned if I didn't run like hell the rest of the way back.

_(fin)_


End file.
